


Pride comes before

by KingLilith



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: AU, Agni Kai (Avatar), Time Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26595871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingLilith/pseuds/KingLilith
Summary: Zuko spins in his bed, and somehow keeps spinning until his feet hit the floor. There is a sudden dizziness and heavy feeling blanketing him, like the tail-end of a heavy cold, and he feels a strip of fabric fall off his shoulders. It feels strangely like an Agni Kai shawl, he thinks disoriented as he tries to get his bearings again.In which an older Zuko is transported to the first Agni Kai he ever fought.
Comments: 34
Kudos: 549
Collections: The Best of Zuko





	Pride comes before

**Author's Note:**

> Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

Zuko spins in his bed, and somehow keeps spinning until his feet hit the floor. There is a sudden dizziness and heavy feeling blanketing him, like the tail-end of a heavy cold, and he feels a strip of fabric fall off his shoulders. It feels strangely like an Agni Kai shawl, he thinks disoriented as he tries to get his bearings again.

He blinks, and then rubs his eyes, trying to make sense of what he is seeing. His father. Standing on the other side of the platform, stance ready and waiting to start the first Agni Kai Zuko has ever fought.

This must be a dream. Only… it feels so real. He can feel the platform beneath his feet, the tightly wound leather that keeps his hair in the high ponytail he hasn’t worn in years, the anticipation in the air. More so, he can see and hear perfectly fine, there is no need to compensate for an injury that isn’t there yet.

He falls out of the ready stance his body had assumed automatically, arms at his side and frown on his face. “This is a very strange nightmare.” Is what comes out, and _oh_ – he sounds so young.

There is a reply from Ozai no doubt, but Zuko fails to hear it in favour of staring at his strangely young and almost scar-less hands.

“You will fight for your honour.” Is what he tunes into once the fascination with his hands wanes. And, ah, that sounds familiar. He has relived some version of those words so many times they seem rather uninspired by now.

Instead of focusing on his father, as many of his dreams had when he was young, Zuko’s eye catches on the crowd watching the proceedings, his gaze immediately drawn to a tiny _tiny_ Azula sitting in the front row. There is a cruel smile frozen on her face, and it confuses Zuko more than anything has so far, because he cannot remember ever dreaming her smile to be that fake. There is no enjoyment behind it, instead she looks almost… scared.

It has been years and years since he has dreamt of this moment, and none of those nightmares he had the first few years were anything like this.

No dream he has ever had was anything like this.

“My honour,” He uselessly and rather belatedly echoes the man who had a hand in his birth, eyes sliding over probably-not-really-Azula to one of the people behind her. Uncle.

If there is one thing that might make him believe this is not some strange fever dream after all, it is Uncle’s face. Looking both younger and older than Zuko has ever consciously seen him, deep lines etched into a tired face and open horror in his eyes - but also strangely distant, as if he is watching something else. Or perhaps someone else.

“Fight.” His father demands, bringing Zuko’s attention back to him. “Step forward and fight, Prince Zuko. You will learn respect.”

There are a lot of things Zuko wants to say. Wants to do. Whether this is a dream or not, he had dreamt about this often enough when he was younger to have a speech prepared. But instead of the half-forgotten speech what comes out of his mouth is “How is this meant to teach me respect?”

“No, seriously. How.” He continues before Ozai can actually answer. “You challenge a thirteen year old to an Agni Kai. You make a child fight an adult, a son fight his father, a Prince fight the Fire Lord himself. In what way is any of that meant to teach respect.”

“You will learn, and suffering will be your teacher.” Ozai says, stepping closer.

“How could I even fight you,” Zuko wonders out loud, ignoring his father’s words. “Fighting the reigning Fire Lord in an Agni Kai would be a legitimate way to challenge for the throne. I mean – what would even happen if I won?”

Oh, and there is the cruel little smile on Ozai’s face that haunted Zuko for so long. “You think you can win this?” The Fire Lord says mockingly, real amusement shining through.

“No of course not.” Zuko admits easily. Even if this is not-entirely-a-dream, his body is clearly thirteen and not able to fight or produce flame as reliably as he would be later in life. Zuko has no illusions about how this will end. How these dreams always end. “I am a child being made to fight one of the best firebenders of this age. I didn’t even have time to prepare.”

Zuko lets his eyes roam over the crowd again, the expressions on their faces not quite as he remembers them. “The advisor I supposedly insulted, which one was he again.” He can’t quit remember the face of the man, and in the crowd it’s really hard to pick out individual faces.

That seems to bring his father to the end of his patience, and it is only years of training - that Zuko’s strangely young body does not have, but his mind remembers - that allow him to dodge the small, controlled blast of fire coming his way.

“I see you still have not learned to keep silent on matters you do not understand. I am doing this to teach you lessons you have failed to learn by a gentler method.”

“An Agni Kai is meant to be fought between equals, a last resort when two parties no longer have the words or the will to reach each other in another way.” Zuko retorts, now completely focussed on the other man and stance ready. His voice is strangely loud and scornful in the quiet room.

“You clearly considered yourself equal when you dared to question military strategy, so you will be treated as such now. These are natural consequences from your own actions.” Ozai says, and probably believes it himself.

There is another small blast of fire that Zuko barely manages to divert away.

He spares a thought to jumping off the platform, Ozai would automatically be declared the winner, and no fighting or bloodshed would be necessary. If nothing else it would give him time in this maybe-not-a-dream, an opportunity to start changing things for the better before Aang gets here.

But… he doesn’t want to jump off. He has never run away from anything, never taken the easy way out, and he’s not about to start now.

“Is this all because you think I will take after your own example of how to deal with a father who has conflicting opinions. Better to have this out of the way now than when I am old and strong enough to have my own goals, I suppose.”

So far Ozai has not really tried to fight seriously. The few blasts of fire were incredibly tame compared to what he knows his father is capable of, they were merely meant to catch his attention and make him fight. But now Ozai really attacks. The blast of fire is large but expertly controlled, two streams that twist together aiming right for his centre.

Zuko ducks under and through, uncaring of the way the flames scorch him. He is well used to this kind of pain and it barely registers.

Ozai is well guarded for any close-range attacks, despite his clear surprise at Zuko’s movements. But attacking is not what Zuko intends to do. Instead he ducks around and behind his father.

The Fire Lord tries to turn as he blasts fire at places where Zuko used to be moments before. He is not as fast as he used to be - or will be, maybe - but he is just fast enough to survive this time it seems.

His mind has the memory of Aang teaching him to move like this, of the way he repeated the steps and twists over and over again until they felt natural, but this body does not have that muscle memory. It is only because he does not even attempt to attack and instead focuses all his energy on staying behind the Fire Lord, coupled with the man’s surprise and inexperience with fighting an opponent that moves like this that it even works at all.

His feet feel clumsy, and the platform is narrow in a way that he never noticed in his dreams before. He keeps his steps small and light, ensuring he is never too close to the edge if he can help it.

“Coward.” Ozai spits out. “No honour at all in you, is there.”

Zuko doesn’t reply, too busy with trying to stay alive and out of range to listen to his words. Which is why he hears the tell-tale crackle of ozone in the air. Blue lighting streaks from the Fire Lord’s fingers to the area behind him as he crosses his arms over his chest, aiming for where Zuko stands without having to turn around.

Zuko only narrowly avoids getting hit by it, and is briefly pleased with himself when he doesn’t falter much from his place at Ozai’s back.

“Why wait? You’re in position, why not attack.” Ozai continues, even though Zuko has stopped replying to his taunts.

But in this case the man is right, he needs to do something, this will not last and his tiny body is tired so quickly. The safest bet is not a complicated or big move, but an action he had perfected even at this age. The flame daggers come to his hands easily, the first fire on his side of this farce of a combat.

And his first mistake. (Listening to his father is always a mistake.)

The daggers move his hands out of the ‘focused’ position he was using to maintain his location, and he missteps.

Ozai takes the opening.

Turning around faster than Zuko can keep up with the Fire Lord wreaths one of his hands in flame and commands a firewhip with the other in a masterful show of control that Zuko would have had a hard time copying even in his later years.

He tries to dodge - and is only partially successful as the whip comes down where he had been moments before, but the Fire Lord's other hand grips his pony tail. He ducks and rolls, wrenching his burning hair out of his father’s grasp. When he tries to get up he gets a foot that he didn’t even see coming in his stomach, kicking him down again.

He can feel the way the clothes burn away where his father’s foot had landed and smell his burning hair. He tries not to pay attention to it, and instead twists, stays low – arms out for balance.

He manages to get behind Ozai again by letting fire graze his shoulder and upper arm. Something is dripping. He doesn’t know if it’s sweat or blood and checking would break his concentration.

Staying upright is getting harder, his hands are straining, and his vision has long since tunnelled to where it is just him and Ozai.

It is not long before Zuko falters again. There is a lock of hair in his face and his foot slips.

He manages to correct himself just in time and only gets a burn on his elbow for the trouble.

Time is running out. This tiny body has very little stamina and not such a great pain tolerance as he had later in life. He has no idea how long this fight has been going on, seconds or years, but judging from the way Ozai is still half-playing with him it has not been long enough for his father to get bored of this game of hide and seek. This time Zuko is giving him something surprising without it being on a level that could actually challenge him instead of his wilful submission. It almost feels like his father is enjoying this more than Zuko’s supplication.

But he will be done playing soon. If he wants to survive this Zuko has to act quickly.

“You never answered my question, Father.” Zuko says, knowing the man will hear him even over the sounds of their match. It is both a distraction and the start of something he had thought about a lot. “What _would_ happen if I win.”

With that Zuko hooks his foot around his father's ankle and pulls has hard as he can.

Ozai twists around like a snake, finally having found a point of contact, a way to hit his target.

The hand comes down heavy on the side of his face, burning in the way he knew it would. Zuko screams in pain. Time seems to stand still for a moment, past and present seeming to converge. What would have been melting into what is.

But the hand is not in the same place as it was the first time. It is slightly lower, more over his cheekbone and jawline than his eye and ear.

He had forgotten how much it hurt, how he could smell his own flesh burning and the way he felt his skin melt.

But the hand is not where it used to be. It is lower. It is lower because Ozai is off-balance. Because his father is angry. Because the Fire Lord is arrogant. Because he is making a mistake.

Zuko pushes through the pain, ignores the temptation to crumble and curl into a tight ball, ignores the way his weirdly wide vision is suddenly halved again. The way both of his eyes want to shut in pain and how much he wishes this wouldn’t have to happen again.

Their feet are still close together, partially entwined, and it takes only a tiny movement to place his foot where it needs to be.

And then Zuko pushes.

It is a small push. No flame or real strength behind it. But Ozai is off balance. Half twisted around and all strength into clutching at Zuko’s face, all attention on the way he is mutilating his own son. He watches the way he burns a child’s face with almost greedy eyes and no care for anything else.

There is no time to correct, no opportunity to change his movement until he’s already halfway over the edge.

He keeps clutching to Zuko’s face far after his feet have already lost the fight with gravity.

And then, with only a small ‘thud’, the Fire Lord is on the ground next to the platform, having lost an Agni Kai to his thirteen-year-old son.

It takes a few moments for Zuko to realise that it is not his ears that are roaring, but the crowd.

He spits out the blood in his mouth and bares his teeth at the future in a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> […and that is how a 13-year-old child became Fire Lord].
> 
> Okay, so I’m working on a much longer ATLA fic, but it keeps growing and growing. It might be one of those fics that I work on forever but never post, so I wrote this for y’all instead.


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